


Signed, a Tired Shopowner

by prince-of-heaven-and-hell (LadyofWinterhell)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23176969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyofWinterhell/pseuds/prince-of-heaven-and-hell
Summary: I should start at the beginning, or maybe a little before then.Anthony slunk around the shop, poking at this and that but (thankfully) not breaking anything. I’m not sure how he was even able to see my inventory, what with his dark shades. But he seemed to be satisfied with what he saw when he finally approached the counter and leaned half his body on it.“Say, do you happen to carry wine? Anything from 1865?”...I own an art shop.------------------Sam is a shopowner in Soho. He wants to keep his business afloat and make it through the holiday season. Sam didn't ask to deal with Crowely & Aziraphale's hopeless pining. But Newt Pulsifer never asked to be the anti-engineer. God's plan doesn't seem to really be about what people want.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Signed, a Tired Shopowner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [temperatezone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/temperatezone/gifts).



> For @temperatezone for the GO Exchange and I forgot to post ;n; pls forgive me!

Hello.

You can call me Sam. Well, I guess you won’t really be calling me anything, will you? You’re just my diary. It feels silly to say that I, a man in my forties, have a diary, but that’s what Dr. Pakhara called it. She said it’ll be good for me. That I’m too tired. Bottling too many feelings up. And that’s why I’ve been seeing strange things.

She’s probably right but, well, I just can’t seem to fully convince myself. There’s no rational explanation besides the idea that maybe I’m going a bit crazy. Or having “stress-induced hallucinations” as the good doctor explained. Taking things that are ordinary and making them seem....well, odd. Maybe it’s an omen? God or Santa or someone wants me to turn my life around. Embrace religion and love and peace in this Christmas season. Something like that? If it is an omen, I do hope it’s a good one. But, you see, the things that I’ve noticed are too harmless to really feel like a bad thing. This isn’t bloodied messages left in the bathroom or claw marks inside a door. It’s...

I should start at the beginning, or maybe a little before then.

For context--not that you need it, no one but me will  _ ever _ read this--I own a little artisan good shop. Mostly, we make our money on jewelry, but I sell all sorts of little bits and bobs from good natured local folk. And now it’s the holiday season, which is our busiest time of the year! I’ve had been preparing for a while.

One crisp autumn day (actually, it could’ve been hot or rainy or who knows, I don’t really remember) a young man with red hair sauntered into the shop. Now when I say sauntered, I mean  _ sauntered. _ The man walked with swiveled hips as if it were the essence of his black leather pants that controlled his gait, and not the other way around. But it didn’t really raise any flags in my head. He was just a new customer. Who wore all black. And didn’t take off his sunglasses when he came inside. I wish I could say he didn’t fit in with our normal demographic of shoppers, but that’s not true at all. One of my best customers always comes in with a fuzzy black hat on their head that I always think is a giant fly when I catch it in the corner of my eye. Another of my good customers is a very handsome, well-dressed man. He’s probably a big lawyer or something. I was actually surprised when he graced the shop with a visit, until he opened his mouth. The first thing he said to me was “I’m looking for a ring my, uh, business associate mentioned. It’s apparently made for a bird? A chicken or something?” And he’s never said a normal thing to me since.

So anyway, all these details aren’t really important. Nothing strange even happened the first time this man came in, but I want to mention it because the man himself is important. Well, important in the sense that he’s become a frequent customer, and has been present a lot of the times when I’ve seen things that were...less than natural. I don’t actually know much about him, besides his name. He introduced himself on that first day. Said his name was “Anthony.”

Anthony slunk around the shop, poking at this and that but (thankfully) not breaking anything. I’m not sure how he was even able to see my inventory, what with his dark shades. But he seemed to be satisfied with what he saw when he finally approached the counter and leaned half his body on it.

“You sell a lot of nice art here, sir,” he said.

I am always polite, so I agreed, even though the way he phrased his words had me wondering if he was a mob boss or something, about to shake me down for money. But looking back on it, nothing about him seemed the least bit aggressive or unlawful. Despite his bad-boy persona, I doubt Anthony’s done anything more “bad” then jaywalking.

“Say, do you happen to carry wine? Anything from 1865?”

It was a ridiculous question, but I kept a straight face. Again, I have weird customers. I’ve been asked where I keep the pornography. If I could introduce a customer to “this Michelangelo fellow that seems to be doing good for himself,” since I clearly knew a lot of good artists. What sizes the hats I sell from my, albeit limited, hand-made clothing collection come in (and if they’d be small enough to fit a pet, “like say, a lizard”). And there was that one time I had a very long, very exhausting argument, about why I could not, in fact, procure a replica of the Japanese artist Taiji Taomote’s “Death Visceration” made with an actual human skull. 

So I just said, “Sorry, sir, I don’t stock anything that’s perishable.”

“A right shame,” Anthony stated. “Good wine is one of the finest arts there is to appreciate.”

I had to agree, and then he was off. Before he slunk out the door, he gave a little wave and promised to be back.


End file.
